


Tony's Hidden Strengths

by Knyghtshade



Series: Tony is more than Ironman [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Team Dynamics, Tony is more than Ironman, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knyghtshade/pseuds/Knyghtshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though an Avenger, Tony feels undervalued by his teammates.  They don't see all of him.  Don't look beneath the underneath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tony's Hidden Strengths

Tony stretched folding in half until his palms lay flat on the floor. He winced as the raw ends of his rib bones crunched up against the metal casing of the arc. Stretching before his workout always hurt the most.

 He had always been active in martial arts, and he refused to give them up now. Being a genius science-nerd, years ahead of his class,  got him constantly bullied and slammed into lockers or worse until he learned to hold his own. His status as son and heir to a billionaire arms designer did nothing to save him; in his school they were all children of the powerful, a parents' name was little protection.  So, he learned to fight.

As he slid into the last stretch, holding the position until his muscles warmed and eased, Tony called Jarvis into action. "Startup regime  Full-stop, Jarvis. We'll go for everything today. Since Clint's had his turn, and everyone else is gone, we shouldn't have any interruptions.

 Before the greatest turning point in his life, and after school, martial training had become just a way to relax. He loved the burn of the physical exertion and the way he could relax into a meditative state allowing his mind to  let go and just move. Now, it was a matter of sheer survival. The arc reactor sat in a gaping hole in his chest, and he routinely fought the evil baddies popping up in the world, keeping his body honed and in peak condition was vital.

"Yes sir, Full-stop routine activating. Do enjoy yourself sir." Panels rose out of the floor and slid out of the walls forming an obstacle course that would make the S.H.I.E.L.D agents green with envy.

"'course." Tony grinned into a camera. As always, Jarvis was his only audience.

Reactive holograms appeared, poised for action as he stepped onto the first platform.  Music blared from the speakers. Tony closed his eyes, soaking in the beat and centering his mind. Snapping them open, he exploded into fluid action and attacked the holograms.

 

\------

 

Tony wiped sweat from his face with a towel as he cut through the kitchen, aiming for the cold water he'd dreamed about for the last five flights of stairs. He could have, maybe should have, taken the elevator, but the climb was part of his workout.

"You look half dead there, Tony." Clint perched on a stool at the island. "What, a couple of sit-ups and you are wiped out?" The archer snickered.

Tony shook his head. "Unobservant," he muttered into the fridge as he fished around for the flavored water he wanted.

"What was that? Never mind, I don't really care. Go take a shower please you are offensive."

Tony grit his teeth. Why was it he let these people stay with him again? Oh yes they were a team!  Only, his team thought he was spoiled and helpless without Jarvis and the suit. They didn’t disguise their doubts of his capabilities. Even Bruce failed look deep enough, to realize he was more.   It took Pepper to kept him sane and semi-social with rest of the Avengers. He was bad with people, worse with people he lived with, and worst to people he lived with that didn’t even try no matter how many times he provided a solution, a brilliant new concept, or  tentatively and ever so skittishly offered a hand of true friendship, only to get ridiculed and spurned at nearly every turn. He was smart. Why didn't he know when to quit?

Fleeing the communal kitchen to his room, Tony chucked the empty water bottle into the disposal and the damp towel into the hamper Jarvis slid helpfully out of the wall to catch his throw. Stepping into an already hot and steaming shower room, Tony sighed as the heat went to work relaxing well-worked muscles and easing the swollen ache around the arc reactor.  He shivered in momentary terror as water poured over his head. He held his breath until the fear washed back into memory.

 Dry clothes and  and a fresh cup of coffee saw him safely ensconced in his lab. Without Pepper and occasionally, Bruce, to drag him out to socialize he could actually get some work done.  As an bonus, maybe he could avoid causing team member upsets that would break his promise to Pepper to behave while she was gone. Also, Clint could be a malicious pest when riled, which he already was, though no fault of his own. He had more awesome things to do than deal with a bored or pissy teammate. Nope. Better to stay down here in the lab and stay out of trouble for the whole week. He'd just sit here and work on his tech designs. His to-do list was long enough to last him a straight month. First up, the rifle laid out on the table was a beautiful dream that he couldn’t wait to put through the paces. It would be its one and only run before it retired to his vault. No longer were guns sold in his name; however, building them was his legacy, his blood. They'd practically been his teething rings as a child. Designing the weapons came like breathing. The long rifle captured his attention for hours as he bent over the unborn metal machine.

"Sir," Jarvis's calm tones pulled him from the installation of the  barrel. "If you wish to acquiesce to Pepper's wishes. Now would be an optimal time for sustenance."

A groan escaped him before he could stifle it. He couldn't help but pout a little bit. "I just got it set up in the vice. I'm so close." He whined. Still, eating was a probably good plan. Just one more screw first. Tony picked up the specialized driver and leaned back over the work bench.

"Sir." Jarvis drew out the word into a warning. The horrible, horrible things the AI picked up from Pepper.

"Fine. Im going." Tony dropped the tools in defeat.  Jarvis obligingly turned the stereo system off, the dead silence further spurring him out of the lab. "Lock down and black out, Jarvis. My new baby is still bare and naked. It'd be shameful if someone saw her like that.

"Of course sir." 

The glass was darkening to pitch as the door hissed shut on Tony's heels. "Geez, Jarvis I'm leaving. No need to cut off my ass as I'm going." 

Jarvis came across particularly dry, "I believe the saying is, snooze you lose."

Tony grinned down at the carpet, hiding the smile even though Jarvis could read his mirth in the vocal tones. "Cold, Jarvis, very cold."

"What's cold."

He did not jump, definitely didn’t scream, yelp, or make any other synonym of unmanly sounds. "Birdy!" Tony exclaimed in false excitement to see his long lost-in-the-ducts teammate. In truth he wasn’t really sure how he felt. He'd been told to make nice. That took both sides of the fence though, and he'd been enjoying the unusual break from constant interruption via Stark business or Avenger business, or especially this difficult thing called friendship. Jarvis was an extension of himself and the AI didn’t have sensitive, human  feelings to be wounded and or pissed off. "Enjoying your vacation from the sweet and loverly Natasha?"

Clint scowled.

"Or not?" Tony shrugged and meandered for the kitchen, the reason for his abandonment of refuge.

"Do you have no regard the danger our friends are in?" Clint asked in a huffy growl.

"I have plenty of regard for our team, and their awesome butt-kicking skills."

Tony stuck his head into the fridge, the cool air soothed the flush of temper. Food. Eggs were promising, combined with cheese and the still edible veggies. Even he could manage that much. Pulling the armload of food out Tony dumped it on the counter to dig a skillet from the cupboard.

"Are you cooking?"

Tony hid a grimace behind the cupboard door. "You volunteering?”

 

The archer  perched on a bar stool, balancing oddly on the balls of his feet, looking for all the world like a hunting hawk atop a fence post.  "Thought we were stuck with takeout for the week."

"Even I can do eggs." Tony moved while he talked, slicing through the peppers, mushrooms, and yellow squash with efficiency. "Tomatoes?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Ah sure."

Tony shoved away any hurt over the obvious doubt. It wasn’t like they knew each other’s domestic habits.  Grabbing a serrated knife, Tony quickly sliced and diced the juicy red flesh. Dumping the tomatoes into the sizzling pan, he turned the heat on under another for the eggs. Uncomfortable silence reigned. For once his mouth refused to spew every nonsensical thought to fill the emptiness. He was tired. The arc ached with extra intensity, painfully reminding him of the predicted rain.  Subtly, he tried to rub out the ache.

The ever-observant archer's eyes narrowed, but Clint didn’t say anything for several minutes. "Why do you always carry the suit’s power unit with you?"

Tony dropped the empty egg shells on the stove in shock. Did they really not know? Tony cocked his head and mentally reevaluated every conversation he’d held with the Avengers. Huh. Guess not. "I like to keep it close. Never know when I'll need to fly." If they didn't already know, they didn't need to know either.

"I don’t drag my bow all over the house."  Clint countered.

Tony filled the flat eggs with the sautéed veggies and slid a spatula under the empty side and flipping it over to blanket the cheesy goodness. "A bow isn’t exactly portable either." Tony took a second to tap the light under his shirt meaningfully. "This goes everywhere with me. Its a part of my heart and soul." He meant it quite literally, but Clint snorted and shook his head.

"Whatever man."

"Get the sour cream out. There's salsa in there too if you want. Or ketchup, whatever flies your kite."

Tony cut the huge omelet in half and slid the fractionally larger half on his plate. He'd done all the work after all.

Turning around, he slid one plate across the counter.

Clint returned with salsa, sour cream, and hot sauce. Blinking at his plate stupidly, Clint said, "That actually looks edible."

Tony rolled his eyes yanking the sour cream free from Clint's clutches. "Cooking is not rocket science."

"Speaking of rockets, Sir." Jarvis cut in before Clint could argue. "There are three incoming. ETA forty seconds. You may wish to remove yourselves from the area.”

"What?"

"What do you meaning incoming?" Clint yelped.

"Forgive me sir. They have a stealth interference and I was unable to detect them until they reached city limits and the tower scanner. ETA 15 seconds."

"Oh shit." Clint stared across the kitchen island at Tony.

Tony met his eyes and together they bolted. The stools hit the floor with a bang that was sure to crack the stone tiles. Jarvis counted down seconds as Tony's bare feet hit the carpeted hallway.

"Projected impact areas, floors fifteen, twenty-two and forty-seven."

 Shit, they were on floor forty-five.

"Impact in minus seven, six, five, four."

"Natasha us going to blame us for this somehow." Clint huffed.

Tony grabbed a handful of Clint’s shirt and yanked the archer into a doorway. This floor's panic room was still three doors down. No time.

"Sir there are helicopters coming behind the missiles. We are being invaded.”

That was the last thing Tony heard before the tower shook.

 

\---

 

Smell was the first sense to come back online. Acrid smoke burned his nostrils. Tony tried to sit up. Something pinned him in place. Feeling down his body, Tony felt damp, slimy warmth. Holding his hand above his face and forcing his eyes to focus, his blood ran cold so fast he ached from it. Crimson dripped down his hand.  Tony reached out again, more carefully this time. He found something fuzzy, like hair. Clint! Tony tried to rear up in concern, but Clint’s weight kept him pinned.  

"Jarvis?" He asked with little hope of response. Power was out on this floor. Jarvis had backup, of course, in triplicate, but if the explosion severed the cables to this floor, he was dead here. Considering how much of the ceiling he saw on the floor while craning his head around, the cables were cut. Smoke writhed and roiled around them, clogging his lungs. They had to move. Tony planted an elbow and twisted his body out from under all 213.4 lbs of Clint. Pain lanced through his hip. Gritting his teeth, Tony dragged his protesting body out further. When he made it far enough out he could sit up, Tony pressed his fingers against Clint’s neck. A faint thumping met his fingers. Relief made him even dizzier. Tony fought the sensation, trying to focus.

Steel girding lay across Clint’s legs. He'd pushed Tony out of the way. Blood dripped steadily from Clint's head, the gash was circular and deep. It'd hit on something hard, metal. Considering that his sternum ached with a fresh pain, and sticky blood stained his shirt, the hard thing had been his arc reactor. "Sorry." Tony apologized to the unconscious man. The blood bothered him. There wasn’t supposed to be blood. Tony wanted to wash it away.  His fault. Always his fault. "Sorry." A thousand reasons lay behind the word.

Pushing at Clint's dead weight, Tony pulled his legs free.

How long had they been laying there?  Jarvis had said there were helicopters in-route.  Tony closed his eyes trying to listen. Had they breached the tower yet?  A high-pitched tone rang in his ears, he couldn’t hear anything else.   Time for a more active approach. Tony used the doorframe to hoist himself to his feet. The room swayed.

Why weren’t the sprinklers raining down their potentially life-saving water, filled with fire retardant chemicals? The carpet squished under his bare feet. Right, the ceiling had collapsed, the pipes were broken along with everything else.

Scrubbing his stinging eyes, Tony tried to force his thoughts to line up clearly, not that they ever did but usually he made sense to himself, if no one else. Clint. He had to get Clint out from under the collapsed ceiling. He could do that. Tony swayed away from the supporting doorframe. Maybe. Damn, his chest hurt. Sinking to his knees, Tony leaned over Clint, pushing at his legs, trying to force the pinned limbs sideways. Clint's stupid freakin boots wedged against the steel. Crawling over Clint, Tony tried again, tugging hard at the military boots. He felt the squeak of the rubber soles dragging on metal, rather than heard it as the boots slid loose. Wet plaster crumbled out of the ceiling and splattered on the carpet.

"Shit."

His tower was falling apart around him. Clint was clear of the debris though.  Tony drug the archer into the hall by his shoulders. The panic room wasn’t safe if the floors collapsed. They needed to get out. Tony stopped and blinked stupidly at the lack of a path. The wall had fallen, blocking off the hallway and any possible access to either the elevator or panic room.

 The kitchen. Natasha had stashed a silenced Walther pistol in the oatmeal. Nobody actually ate the goopy grain, not even old-man Steve, so nobody cared that it tasted like gun oil. Gritting his teeth, Tony bent over and hoisted Clint over his shoulder. His hip buckled nearly sending them both back to the floor. He planted a hand on the wall. "Come on bird brain. You can wake up and help anytime now. Carry your own heavy ass."

The kitchen was in better condition; although, ominous cracks ran through the ceiling panels and water dripped from the seams. One lonely sprinkler spritzed frantically above the stove. Reaching for the cupboards, Tony didn’t dare put Clint down. He wouldn’t get him back up. He fumbled passed the various cereals, bran or sugar-filled alternately, and grasped at the cylindrical canister of oats. It rotated out of his fingers. "Fuck!"

Tippy-toed, he tried again, twisting so Clint's legs weren't hitting the counter. This time the smooth cardboard didn’t escape his clutches. Tony dragged the oatmeal canister down. He pinched the canister between his hip and the counter to pry the lid off one-handed.

"Thank you, Natasha,” Tony breathed. The gun and an extra magazine sat half buried in the rolled oats, a ziplock baggy keeping them clean of grain dust. Opening the bag with his teeth, Tony let the oatmeal drop to the floor. Some of the oats stuck to his damp feet. He ignored the mess.  His tower was trashed anyway. The extra clip went into his pocket.

He tucked the gun into the waist band of his pants, dangerous, but he needed both hands to keep Clint steady. The stillness of the man on his shoulder bothered him. The archer could be still as a statue when hunting, but this stillness felt more death-like. And now, his thoughts were getting morbid. "Seriously need to wake up anytime now, birdbrain."

Tony limped for the stairs. The suit tuned for his implants was offline and upstairs for repairs. He didn’t have the old bracers on to summon the others. Downstairs led outside and away from a possible tower collapse, but that still left them vulnerable to the invaders. Upstairs led towards the helipad which was probably swarming with said invaders. Jarvis was sure to have sent out an alert for the team but they were on missions. Busy.  On the other rounded sides of the world. So no help was coming anytime soon.

He felt naked without his armor.

The carpet in this hall was dry, snagging at the oatmeal stuck to his toes. It tickled. Grimacing, Tony scrubbed his feet on the carpet to get it all off at once. No sense in leaving a literal trail of crumbs for the intruders. The air was clearer here, the haze of smoke lighter and not as much dust filtering through.  A moan made him jump, which he would deny to his grave.

Clint squirmed. 

Tony staggered thrown off-balance. "Okay, okay. Chill birdbrain."  A hissed of pain escaped him as he stooped down to dump Clint out of the fireman's carry onto his ass. His hip was definitely tweaked. Tony bore it. They didn’t have time for him to be injured. Green tinged the archer's face. A disturbing erping sound erupted from Clint's throat. Tony sidestepped in alarm, but braced Clint upright with a palm pressed to his chest. "Don't puke on me!"

Bleary eyes slit open, filled with confusion.

"About time you woke up, birdy." Tony schooled his face into a nonchalant grin. Excellent, no puking.

"What happened?" Clint asked.

"Oh you know, bombs, explosions, invaders, the usual."

He stood strong as the archer gathered his bearings. What he really wanted to do was hobble to his bedroom like an old man, crippled and arthritic, and crawl into bed. That would lead to mocking, and unsubtle sideways glances of doubt and misgivings. They all questioned whether he should be on the team. Whether he was worthy. Whether he was capable. Tony refused to hand them a new platter of weaknesses to pick over. This was his tower and, injured or not, he would defend it.

Tony stifled a cough. He was not going there. He couldn't stop it. A spasm shook his chest as he coughed. Bone ground on metal. Tony gagged from the pain.

 Clint gave him a worried stink eye. “Tony?”

"Just gagging over your stench." That was purely spite for the snarky comment this morning. Petty, but true. "Are you ready to move?  My tower has been blown up, and I'd like to find the people responsible; before they find us."

The stink eye didn’t waver. Tony raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. He doubted he made much of an imposing picture, in sweatpants and a tank, covered in sweat, plaster, and oatmeal flakes, plus a pistol haphazardly shoved in his waistband.

Clint's brow furrowed, but he acquiesced. "Help me up. My head's still swimming."

Tony held out a hand, turning so his good hip took the weight.

Clint over-balanced and fell into Tony, knocking them both into the wall. Tony clamped his mouth shut on a whine of pain as Clint's shoulder slammed into the arc reactor. "Sorry." Clint muttered. "Stood up to fast. Dizzy."

Tony took their closeness as a chance to check pupil dilation without getting handsy. Uneven. That didn’t make sense, hitting his head on the arc shouldn’t have been that damaging, despite the still-bleeding laceration. Handsy it was. Tony reached out, forcing Clint to stand still.

"Hey what gives!" Clint yelped.

Tony pursed his lips in concentrated worry.  "Hold still. You have a concussion." He prodded gentle fingertips over the surface of Clint's skull. What had he missed in the initial wound inventory?

"Owe! Fuck off!" Clint snarled. He jerked away an promptly stumbled. Tony grabbed him and hauled him back before he fell. He poked at the swollen hot lump on the back of Clint's hard cranium.

The scene in which he'd woken in minutes ago, recreated itself visually in his minds-eye. Him on his back, Clint sprawled half over him, half under the steel beam. He mentally rewound the scene. Both on their feet, running into the room, an ominous groaning as the world shook, Clint looking up and turning to shove Tony back, the steel beam shattered through the plaster of the ceiling, the falling trajectory brought the steel down on Clint's head, pushed him forward, pinned him on top of Tony, and sliced open his head on the arc. That was how he came to have a concussed teammate, mutinously leaning into his shoulder for support.

“We gotta keep moving.” Tony pulled Clint's arm over his shoulders and limped down the hall. The bump felt nasty, but he was more concerned with the soft tissue within the protective bone. He'd seen on too many of Pepper's crime dramas where the victim - oh god were they victims now? -The victim acted completely fine, but developed a slow bleed in the brain that killed them slowly, silently. Clint needed his head checked, in more ways than one, but right now a CAT scan sounded good. First, to get out of his breached tower. Preferably without getting shot. Then hospital.

Right, they could so totally do this.

Clint noisily gagged back bile. "What happened?" He mumbled in Tony's ear.

Tony's stomach swallowed his toes. Short-term memory loss.  Another definite sign of a concussion. God, today officially sucked. He hoped JARVIS had summoned help already.

Something thumped and someone cussed in another room. The intruders were close. Too, close.

Tony forced his aching hip to keep up, hobbling faster towards the stairwell.

A plastic clatter came from the kitchen.

"Who the hell eats oatmeal?"  Someone was in his house. Tower, whatever. His turf his rules. The stairs branched up and down. Hesitating, he calculated their chances. At the rate they were moving, they'd never get out unconfronted and unharmed. The Ironman suits were twenty floors up. Neither he nor Clint could make the climb in their sorry states. That left the Hulk room.

Tony hated it. A panic room of epic proportions. Bruce's paranoid lockbox. A place for him to go hide when he thought he would explode in green delusions of angry grandeur. Tony had Starkified it of course. The back wall was a giant screen safely enclosed in Hulk proof plexi, a Hulk-sized bean bag chair, and a Kinect system. Hulk was surprisingly awesome at Just Dance when Bruce was coaxed into letting off some steam. Seeing as it was a Hulk-proof panic room even if the tower collapsed, Clint wouldn’t be crushed, and the intruders couldn't get in.

The security feed should still be secure on that floor too, and he could get an idea of what they were looking at. Tony was going make them eat the repair bill. The intruders would regret trespassing in his tower. 

Dust filtered in grey clouds on the stairs. Tony wanted to cover his face with his shirt, but both hands were fully occupied keeping them from tumbling down the hundreds of stairs.  He sneezed. Pain exploded in his chest at the arc site. God it hurt. The raw ends of rib bones slamming on the metal shielding the arc. He almost dropped Clint as he convulsively reached for his chest.

 Clint grabbed at the railing and kept them both from tumbling down the stairs. "Tony?" The archer’s question filled with confused concern.

"I’m fine. Sneezing isn’t the most comfortable thing when there is metal in the middle of your rib cage."

Clint’s forehead furrowed as though it had never occurred to him before. "Oh."

"Right, so lets go. Getting shot hurts more."

Clint’s brow furrowed, but he nodded and they hobbled down the stairs. "Wait." Clint stopped abruptly. Tony was glad they were on a landing. "What did you mean metal in your chest."

Tony frowned. This was coming up twice in one day? They hadn’t ever discussed it, but he knew it was in his file. He hadn’t scrubbed it because it was vital in a medical situation. He didn’t want them trying to take it out, or do some idiotic experiment. "I am Ironman, birdy my very soul is metal." IF they weren't going to bother to read beyond the top page or actually ask, he was not going to tell. The team sniped at him enough as it was without him giving them 40 caliber worth of ammunition, but any fears of another weakness exposed vanished with Clint’s next question.

"What happened? Why am I carrying you down the stairs?"

Right, the concussion in full evidence. "Who’s carrying whom here, birdbrain?" Tony guided them onto the last flight of steps.

"Un." The reply wasn’t awe inspiring.

"Uhuh." Tony wheezed. "You just think about that for a little bit and don’t pass out on me again." Finally they reached the panic room. He had yet to hear boots tromping on the stairs, so they had a good headstart.  Tony pressed a hand to the wall panel and the whole wall slid open with a shush of well-oiled hydraulics. Hulk-sized. Tony propped Clint against a huge bean cushion. Hulk could throw it around to his heart’s content and it would still be a nice squashy chair when he was done. Tony grabbed a smaller normal sized one, plopping it under Clint’s elbow to prevent him from falling over and cracking his head open the rest of the way.

"Jarvis?" Tiny asked, fully expecting an answer. There was no way they cut his AI out of the whole tower. Jarvis wasn’t that easy.

"Here, sir."

Tony sighed relieved, "Good to hear it. Bring up all eyes on our intruders."  

Immediately, the screens flared to life with multiple segments showing the current views of soldiers stomping about the tower in total disrespect of Tony’s territory.  Tony growled under his breath, and surveyed the damage report that also came up without his command. Jarvis was so smart. Lights flashed red and yellow on the damaged structures of his tower. Tony chewed a thumbnail while he compared the structure material strengths to the damage. "I believe we are safe from a total tower collapse, Jarvis confirm calculations?"

"I do believe you are correct, sir"

Tony nodded. He’d known that, but confirmation was nice. Ok, so, no being squashed by his own tower today. Moving on.

 He had a secret hidden in the Hulk room, because, seriously, who would look here for anything special. Hulk couldn’t use them, and Bruce he trusted to use them wisely, if he ever learned they were here.

Tony tossed a look at Clint. No help would be coming from him. The panic room would keep him out of trouble.

 "Jarvis, open the fire wall." At the command, a panel of the titanium wall split down the middle. A quiver of anticipation ran down his spine as he saw his beautiful toys. Every single one of the guns and knives mounted within the wall was his personal design. Each one-of-a-kind weapon stayed here safely hidden from the world. The arms market would never see them. He selected a battle rifle and a couple of sheaths with combat knives. He was nearly ready.

"Jarvis ETA?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D in route forty-two minutes. The helicarrier is currently located above Russia, servicing the Widow’s mission. Warbirds are inbound."

"Figures they’d be halfway around the world when we need them here." Tony tucked a couple extra clips into the holsters.

"Any audio on what these guys are after?"

"They are searching for Bruce, sir. It seems they wish him to perfect a version of the hulk serum that they have developed."

Tony snorted in disgust, "Bruce isn’t even here! Thor save me from stupid psychopaths. Probably saved my tower though, Hulk doesn’t take calmly to being kidnapped." Tony pulled the strap of the battle rifle over his shoulder as the streaming video of intruders flicker light over his face.  "Let’s clear out the vermin of the day and gift wrap them for S.H.I.E.L.D. Jarvis lock down the helipad. Keep then from escaping."

 "Already done, sir." Tony pushed a comm into his ear.

Clint roused. "What’s going on?"

"I’m cleaning the tower, be back in a bit. You can track me on screen. Jarvis don’t let Clint out unless an emergancy arises. Keep me updated on his vitals. I want to know if he gets worse. Head injuries are not to be messed around with." 

"Of course, sir".

Clint’s head lolled around like a newborn kitten’s. "Tony? Suit up?"

"Not today, birdy. Today they get Stark, not Ironman, and definitely not Hawkeye. They won't know what hit them." The panic room closed on the archer’s feeble confusion. "Jarvis have medics on standby. He needs checked out as soon as the tower is cleared for entry ."

"Sir." Jarvis acknowledged.

The hallway was quiet. Thank all the deities it was Sunday and the tower was empty of all employees.  To think, the board members had pitched such a fit over a mandatory day of rest. If he had caved in to their demanding pressures, his prized, highly-intelligent employees could have been killed today, losing the precious minds that he'd gathered from around the planet. He was a genius that collected geniuses, putting them to work with cutting edge tools and setting them free to invent awesome things and today, of all days, his geniuses sat safely at home.

"Sir, the intruders are sweeping two floors above you."

Tony bared his teeth in a nasty grin. "Thank you. Lets clean house Jarvis."

"Certainly sir."

He loved his AI.

 

The stairs were not taken two at a time, even though he wanted too.  His bruised chest hurt too damn bad for that kind of exertion.  He did climb with steady determination, Natasha's silenced pistol leading the way. He would pick off as many as possible, all quiet like, until they caught on that they were the hunted.

The intruders stomped through his home like stampeding elephants. Tony heard them well before he saw them.

"Shouldn’t this place be swarming with employees?" Someone asked. Tony ground his teeth at the crash of a boot kicking in a door. He added it to the tally of damages they were going to pay for.

Tony inched his way into the hall.

Radio static buzzed, and a woman spoke, picking up a conversation he’d missed. "That’s what the mission briefing said. A few hundred hostages to hold the Avengers in check. The Hulk’s alter ego will fall in line like a newborn lamb when we shoot a couple of people and threaten the rest. Being the bad guy is so freeing." She laughed coldly and the radio fell silent.

"But, where are the hundreds of employees?" The man sounded plaintive. "I am gonna get my ass chewed by the boss and it’ll be all her brilliant fault."

Tony sneered. From how the sound bounced down the plaster walls, the man was two doorways further. 

Jarvis buzzed in his ear. "Intruder will exit the room in: 4, 3, 2, 1."

Tony didn’t shoot. He rushed forward on silent, still bare feet and slammed an elbow into the guy’s face. Cartilage crunched audibly. Continuing with the rotating momentum of his body, Tony kneed the soldier’s stomach. He’d have a bruise from hitting the body armor, but it was worth it to see the guy double over breathless, blood streaming from his flattened nose. Pity, he hadn’t managed the proper angel of fatal trajectory to drive the splinters of nasal bone into the brain tissues. The soldier was taller than he had estimated. Tony contented himself by slamming the butt of the pistol into the man’s vulnerable spinal cord. These men were threatening his home, his people, his friends. He had an injured teammate to protect. Mercy was not on the books. 

"Did you find someone?"  A gruff voice asked from the adjacent room. Tony stepped over the body and disappeared into the room beyond. The door linking the two suits opened with only a whisper across the carpet. A man stood silhouetted in the opposite door his back to Tony as he peered down the hall looking for his partner in deadly crime. "The Hell. Smithers!"  The man loped around the doorway to where the body sprawled.  Tony crept up behind the soldier as he knelt over the cooling lump of flesh. With a steady hand and tight lips Tony aimed the silenced pistol at the back of the soldier’s head and pulled trigger. Two down.

"Jarvis do we have any type of head count yet?"

"No more than sixteen, sir. That is the EC135 Hermes helicopter’s maximum capacity."

"Sixteen. They only sent sixteen soldiers into my tower? The Avenger’s tower? How imbecilic are these people!" 

Tony threw his hands in the air. "Rhetorical question, beyond imbecilic obviously. What, did they think we’d just fall at their feet groveling like worms just because they shot a few holes in my tower?"

"Apparently, sir.  The next team consists of five and are currently approaching from the far stairwell."

Tony pulled the earwig off the first dead mercenary. Electronic lights flared to life when he laid the earwig on his phone. Jarvis went to work wirelessly hacking it. "Frequency found sir. All intruder units patched into your comm."

"Thank you Jarvis."  Tony stomped on the earwig, grinding his heel into the small machine like he would grind their ugly faces into his plush Egyptian carpets.

“They are passing your floor and continuing to the next."

"Be a dear and lock down the stairwells would you please?" Tony sensed, more than heard, Jarvis comply. The weight of the air grew more imposing as all exits locked down. He smirked. They’d walked willingly into his den. Time to play.

Tony prowled to the far stairwell.  He heard muffled pounding, like shoulders ramming against locked doors. Jarvis unlocked the stairway door  at his touch. Easing halfway out, he could  see men ramming the lower door. He pulled the pin on a frag grenade, casually lobbing it down into their midst.  Violence exploded. Tony waited for any signs of life to come crawling out of the bloody mess.

Tony idly wondered if Cap was going to be mad at him for killing them; though honestly, the man had fought in a war. Death claimed the enemy. It was a fact. More likely, Steve’d think Tony didn’t have it in him. None of them thought he had it in him. Tony sighed and rubbed his chest, not sure if the  sudden spike in pain was physical or emotional. It hurt.  His ‘team’ thought he didn’t have the strength to do what needed done. Sure, he dropped the ball on little stuff all the time, but it was so very hard to remember things when his brain always whirled, around and around. Stuff just got lost in the chaos.  It would always surface again, but then it was often to late and he was in the metaphorical doghouse. They didn’t understand. No one did. Pepper only accepted.  It took 70% percent of his mental power to keep on top of the really important issues and not let them drift behind the constant fog of ideas and knowledge.

Nothing moved out of the smoke.  Frag grenade, plus enclosed stairwells, equals five dead bodies. Seven down. Nine more.

God, he ached.

Tony leaned against the wall, waiting for the stairs to stop wobbling under his feet. He’d rest for just a moment and catch his breath.

 

"Tony! Tony, can you hear me? Are you all right? You have to get up!" Clint’s voice in his ear was raspy, as though he’d been calling for awhile. "Tony, there are more of the bastards coming. You have to move."

Oh, when had he sat down? Stupid adrenalin crash.  Plus, a slight lack of sleep and food in the last day or two. If only he’d gotten to eat his omelet.

Pepper was going to chew on his ass. Ooh, that was a nice thought. Wait, what? Tony shook his head. Focus. He needed to focus. He stood up. His hip, honest-to-god, creaked in distress.

"Tony, Tony, Tony! They are right there, man. They’re gonna blow the door. Move!"

Tony moved. Disregarding the fierce complaints of his body, he vaulted over the railing. Landing to Clint's colorful cussing in his ear and a spasm of pain in his hip, he didn’t dare stop, dropping over again and again until he was below the floor Clint hunkered down on.

 "Jarvis leave it cracked." He ordered as he slipped though the door. The chem labs. This could either be fun or terrible. He'd decide when this was over. Rows of work tables and machines gleamed, humming and at the ready.  He grabbed an empty beaker and dashed to the containment units where nearly every chemical known to man was stored. Combinations and reactions filled his head. Tony started pouring. He only had time for fast and crude.

"Sir. Two are approaching the door. Three are waiting on the stairs." 

The liquid in the beaker bubbled and roiled. Tony pulled one final vial off the rack and shoved an emergancy gas mask on his face.

"Tony, what's going on. Why are you running around like it's Halloween?" Clint asked.

Tony frowned. Stupid concussion. "Jarvis?"

"He is stable sir. No deterioration in his vital signs."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

The door started opening, Tony threw the mixture at the mercenary’s feet in an explosion of glass and noxious fumes.  The men outside screamed. "Jarvis?"

"Four targets neutralized.  One is retreating."

He could hear that through the hacked comm link. 

“Screw this, shit. The intel was all wrong,” the soldier coughed out. “There are no civilians. No sign of the Hulk either, thank god. Insane to even try jumping the Avengers inside their own tower.”

 Run, run little mice. Tony allowed the soldier his retreat. It just saved him the energy of hunting them down if they clustered. He went for the easier approach.  “Jarvis, seal off the labs until a biohazard unit can come through and do cleanup."  Flashing, red lights flared around the exit as he left the contaminated labs. "Sir, five intruders remaining near their original entry point. The other appears to be retreating towards them.”

"You mean where they blew a fucking hole in my tower?"

"Exactly, sir."

Tony hobbled more than prowled his way towards the far bank of elevators.  It was time for this to end.  This was probing to be the most ridiculous day in the last month, seriously, even counting Avenger business. Just plain ridiculous.  Whom ever had thought up this plan in the first place deserved to be shot for its sheer stupidity. 

"Send DUM-E with the SRY2K." He predicted that the infiltrators were shortly going to realize the sheer stupidity of their plan, and significant loss of manpower, and retreat.  He didn’t need to rush.  He’d get there just in time for the helicopter to be over the bay. 

“Sir.”

“Yes, Jarvis?”  Tony smirked.  He knew it.

“They are withdrawing, Sir.”

The elevator rose with a triumphant hum.  Aches and pains faded away under a fresh surge of adrenaline.  DUM-E twirled excitedly when Tony stepped out of the elevator.  His long burden nearly rammed into the wall.  “Whoa, easy there DUM-E.  I need that functional.  Thank you very much for bringing up.  Good boy.”  He quickly rescued his prototype from his dysfunctional robot child. 

The comm in his ear crackled.  “Dude, where did you get that rifle?  It’s sexy," Clink said.

“She is isn’t she,” Tony agreed, while checking the chamber to be sure it was loaded.  “I built her.  You won't find this beauty on any market.  Never will either.  It’s straight to the vault for her after this.”

“You made that?”  Clint’s surprised exclamation hurt his ears, and his feelings.

“Yes, of course.  Weapons designer here.” 

“Oh.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony cradled the heavy SRY2K and limped through the rubble of his tower.  He heard the thumping beat of the chopper blades fading as the intruders fled.  Wind howled over the gaping hole in the walls.  This mess was going to take weeks to repair.  Dragging a chair up to the broken edge of the floor, Tony straddled it resting the rifle on the back.  The metal of the stock was cool against his cheek.  The safety clicked off.  He peered down the sights.  The helicopter flew clear of the city limits out over the water.  A couple of trees on roof top gardens gave him a wind calculation to factor into his shot. 

Clint popped back into the comm. “Tony, man, I know you made that thing, and it’s sexy as hell, but there’s no way you are gonna make that shot.  Even I couldn’t make that shot.  There’s just not a rifle with that kind of range. I've played with snipers twice its size and they wouldn’t even reach that range.”

Tony snorted. He turn the dial to sharpen the focus of his sights. The rotators of the helicopter whirled before his eyes.  He shifted his aim. It needed to go down clean, no massive explosion to rock the harbor. He squeezed the trigger.

\---

Clint was babbling about awesome purple bunnies as the medics loaded him into the ambulance.  Tony was trying to wave away the medics prodding at him when his hip gave out and he was ferried onto another ambulance before protests could spill out of his mouth.  Pepper was going to chew his head off.

  ---

Natasha was the first to arrive, blowing into the hospital room with a cold fury.  Clint was drugged and sleeping, leaving Tony alone to face the brunt of her displeasure.  “What happened?”

Tony flapped an I.Ved hand. “They thought they could hold my people hostage and force Bruce into compliance.  All they really accomplished was a big-ass hole in my tower, and got an ass-kicking.” Hopefully, she would leave it at that. No such luck for him of course. Her pinched lips compelled him to continue. “The initial explosion gave Clint a concussion when he shoved me out of the way of a steel beam.”  

Her piercing eyes narrowed and he could just see the ‘so it’s your fault, as usual’ engraving itself across her thoughts.  She didn’t say it, but her shapely back pointedly presented, as she sat in a chair beside her partner, said it for her.  He wondered if Clint would remember anything and put in a word of support for him.  Ah, who was he kidding?  Purple bunnies.  Hawkeye’s brain had been scrambled like an egg the whole time, he probably didn’t remember any of it.  Any inkling of respect he may have earned from the battle was lost to short-term amnesia.

 He should have Pepper bring him a stuffed bunny as a get well present for Clint.  Purple of course.  If only he had his phone…  Natasha wasn’t about to let him borrow hers.  Pepper must be frantic.  He was in so much trouble.  He had failed at her two most upheld rules: don’t get hurt, and don’t piss off your team.  He’d promised to try, had tried, really, really hard.  Why had he bothered to crawl out of his lab again?  It always ended badly somehow.  Oh right, the third promise to Pepper, eating.  He needed to stop promising things, then he wouldn’t break them and disappoint her. 

Tony drifted. 

Vaguely, he noticed Steve coming in and taking up guard at the door. He and Natasha conversed in harsh tones.  Something was wrong.

Where was Pepper?  And Bruce?  What if they were still after Bruce? What if they had captured him? Horrible scenarios spun through his head faster than he could discount them.

Tony lurched up.  Owe.  His chested ached like he’d been kicked by the Hulk. He sipped at the air around the pain. Bruce. He had to warn Bruce, the group was still out there.   Rubbing the arc, he looked for his team.  “Bruce.  He is safe? He was the target.” The attack on the tower had been stupid, ill-planned; a mere distraction?

“I’m fine, Tony,” Bruce said, papers rustled as he laid them down.

Oh. Bruce was right here, in the chair beside him. When had he gotten here? 

“Good, that’s good.”  Tony slumped back onto the pillows with hiss of pain.  The team had him.  Bruce was guarded, and Clint safe and healing.  That was good.  Tony stuffed a wail of loneliness back down his throat and closed his eyes.  He needed Pepper.

\---

Pain. His chest was on fire. People in masks clustered around him. Was that a saw screaming? It hurt. There was a hole in his chest. They had cut a hole in his chest! Tony flailed. No. Not again.  He couldn’t breathe. Something pinned him down. Natasha and Steve were at his side. They would get him out, to safety. Tony almost relaxed, then he realized that their hands were the manacles around his wrists.

 Why? Stunned by the betrayal, he stopped struggling. 

White-gloved hands entered his sight and pulled the arc out of its socket.  Tony turned his head.  Bruce?  No.  This was just the dream again. He was dreaming. This wasn't real. Couldn't be real. His team wouldn't do this to him. Wouldn't they? They deemed him worthless, perhaps the arc was worth more to them outside his chest. No, it was just the dream, but it hurt so bad this time.  Closing his eyes, Tony willed himself to wake up.  Just wake up.  The agony in his chest was unrelenting.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, stop.  Please.  Stop,” Tony babbled desperately.  Why wouldn’t he wake up?  Why wouldn’t it stop?  Hot tears burned down his cheeks.  He couldn’t hear anything, but the pounding pulse in his ears and scream of a bone saw. Was he in a cave?  He couldn't breathe.

Darkness and terror sucked him in. 

\---

A gentle hand stroked through his hair.  The pain was gone.  His chest felt numb.  Perfume tickled his nose.  Pepper.   Tony turned his head into her hand, afraid to open his eyes and wake up.  He couldn’t go back there, back to that pain.  A sob escaped him.  His team had betrayed him.  He hadn’t thought they disliked him that much.  Warmth caressed his cheek. 

“Ssh, Tony, I’m here now.”  The mattress dipped as she sat beside him.  Tony pressed his face into her hip.  His soul felt ravaged and his only strength was the woman sitting with him, holding him together. 

“Is he awake?” 

Fear took control. Tony tried to bolt up, to shield Pepper.  Protect her.  Natasha stood at the foot of the hospital bed, startlement sliding behind her ever-present mask.

“Stay away,” he rasped out. His dry throat spasmed around the words. A coughing fit wracked him. He curled around the agonizing pain. 

Natasha grabbed a cup of ice chips and held one to his lips.  

“No.”  He’d die first. They had gone after the arc. Ripped it out of his chest, like Obadiah. He would not forgive that.

Pepper sat him up with an arm under his shoulder and held him while he fought to breathe.  “Tony.  It’s okay.  You are not there anymore. You are safe.”  Her warm lips pressed against his ear as she murmured familiar reassurances that he'd hear a thousand times, a mantra of safety. “Everyone is safe.  You are at the hospital. Not the cave. Ssh.”  She rocked him. 

Tony refused to feel shame as he clung to her like a child.  He sensed Natasha’s presence retreat and relaxed slightly.  He wasn’t sure how much of his night terrors had been truth or dream. Drugs and nightmares made for a vicious cocktail of hallucinations. Maybe he'd dreamt it all. God, he hoped so. Either way, he knew that she blamed him for Clint’s injuries. He’d hoped that the others at least would listen before judgement.  It wasn’t like he’d asked the attackers to bomb his tower, not this time. Once was enough, repairs were expensive. 

He hurt. Tony began a new calculation of injuries. His chest obviously, his hip ached too. Dark, finger-shaped bruises stained his wrists.  Not so much a dream then.  Truth. His team had held him down and pulled out the arc reactor.  He wasn’t certain what they’d had accomplished, since he was still breathing. The arc was in place, humming in his chest. They'd done it all the same. Why? Why? Why? Had they wanted blueprints so badly? Tony curled his fingers into the silky hem of Pepper’s shirt and shivered.  Violated.  Trust tentatively extended, stolen away. Again. Maybe he should become a hermit. He practically lived in his lab already. 

Pepper caught his retreat.  “Tony, do you remember anything.”   He shrugged.  “Tony.”  Her tone demanded an actual verbal reply.

“Just dreams.”  He would deal with it himself.  Nothing would change outwardly.  Same old Tony. Good only for the Ironman armor and tech. Trust no one.  Except for Pepper.  The team would remain intact and functioning, even if he crumbled apart inside. 

 She sighed.  “Not all of it was dreams.  Your arc reactor took a blow sometime during the attack.  The arc took no damage, but the blow bruised and inflamed the flesh around it. The tissue started swelling. With no room to expand, it pressed on your lungs and heart.” Fright hitched her voice.  He’d scared her again.  A promise he’d made to himself, broken. “You would’ve died if they hadn’t removed the arc from the cavity so there was room for the swelling tissues. Bruce did it all, under their and Jarvis instruction, so that the doctors wouldn’t see any of it.” Her fingers stroked his hair. “You broke out of sedation and got caught in a flashback.”  

Meaning he’d fought, and his team had pinned him down themselves rather than let the doctors take over. They hadn't kicked him out of the Avengers for being weak, at least not yet, they'd helped him. Protected his body from unknown doctors. Saved him from his own tech. He didn't know what to do with that.

It was too much to process.  Tony allowed the exhaustion and drugs swallow his consciousness so he didn’t have to deal with it. 

\---

Something wet and goopy splatted into his ear, Tony jolted and groaned as all his aches complained at abrupt movement.

Clint cheered, “Finally.” 

 Tony wiped the spitball off his face with all due disgust. He plastered over the cracks in his psyche with an overreaction. “God, Birdbrain. Save your spit for your girlfriend.” The dull pain in his chest did not exist, his team did not know his greatest weakness, had not removed said greatest weakness from his chest. Nope. Hadn’t happened. If only telling himself that over and over would make it true. He fingered the o2 cannula shoved up his nostrils.

“Ahh,” Clint warned, waving his straw at him in explicit threat. “You yank that thing out, we’ll both be in trouble.  Clint’s concussion had cleared up if they were going to leave him on guard duty. He supposed Clint would be at home already if it wasn’t for him. It was no wonder they’d left gimpy to watch over useless gimpy. God, was he so pathetic?

Tony left the cannula alone. Humiliation was better than Clint’s nasty spitballs. They had already held his heart in their hands. A cannula letting him breathe wasn’t going to change that.

He eyed Clint. “Any brain cells left unscrambled from our brief adventure?”

“Oh just a few.” Clint smirked. “I might’ve even loosened up a few, can use them now.”  

His chest hurt to much to applaud as the comment deserved. Tony settled for snark. “Oh? Good for you!”

Oddly, Clint didn’t rise to the bait. Tony saw the twist of annoyance, but it disappeared under a serious frown. “Hey, Tony, thank you. I was burnt toast back there. Singed and worthless.”

What? The concussion was still affecting Clint, obviously. Or maybe he himself had one too? 'Cause there was no way Clint had just thanked him for anything besides up grading his bow. 

The archer eyed him. “No, don’t do that. Stop with the blank face. I’m serious. Thank you. You were awesome. I should have known you had it in you.”

“Well, duh. Genius here. Of course I have it in me.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You are so contrary.”

Tony grinned. Now that was a compliment he would take. “As I live and breathe.”

Clint twirled his straw. “They’ve probably trashed their base by now.”

“They found them?” Of course they had, between SHIELD and Jarvis, once the intruders became a blip on the radar it was only a matter of time.

Clint nodded anyway. “Wish they’d waited for us. Owe them a few knocks to the head.” He was silent for a bit and Tony was starting to doze when he spoke again. “You almost died you know. Your chest.  You were suffocating. There's a giant hole in your chest.”

There it was. His weakness exposed to the daylight.  

Clint short-circuited his self-condemnation. “Totally badass. Better than Steve’s “frozen in ice for fifty years” badass.”

That was laying it on a bit thick. “Kiss-up. You only love me for my big gun.”

“Well, yeah, can I play with it? Pretty please? I will treat it like it’s mine. Better even, cause I like to play a bit rough; I’d treat yours as though it was the finest of instruments.”

“It is the finest of instruments. It’s mine.”

“But, I want to touch it, and caress it, squeeze it gently until it fires. Please Tony? I will be ever so gentle.”

“God, listening to you two is like porno.” Bruce stood in the doorway with a half-eaten sandwich. “Wait until we get home to play with your instruments.” The implied finger-quote hung in the air. “You’ll scar the nurses.” His dark eyes swept over the monitors before he relaxed into his chair with a soft smile. 

“Nah, they’ll just wish they could get some too," Clint said.

Bruce sighed and ate his sandwich while Clint and Tony made progress on their friendship by trying to fluster him. It was a new kind of moment. There was no underlying conflicts between the three of them. It was fun. Since he and Rodney had left school he hadn't had many friend moments. This was different than just hanging with Bruce alone, then they talked about merging their different sciences into wholes. This was new. Tony kinda liked it.

 

Tony stretched and twisted carefully. The dull ache of mostly healed injures complained at him, but he kept moving until muscles warmed and limbered.  As he settled into position the platforms moved and music thrummed out of speakers.  

Clint crouched at the ready beside him. “Ready?”

Tony grinned. “Let’s go.”

 

END

 

 

 

 


End file.
